Drinks, Dreams and Farewells.
07 Apr 2016Desert Fox CXVII
You ever get the feeling that things are getting better? Everything else in your life might be falling apart, but there's that one event that makes you think that things are looking up. Today was one of those days.
A couple hours ago I'd been discharged from the hospital and found out my name had come up on the waiting list for one of those Saud-Kruger Fer-De-Lance upgrades. I made a well thought out and completely non-impulsive decision to buy the ship.
So here I am, standing on a catwalk over looking my most recent purchase, a complimentary bottle of Achenar Blue No.8 resting by my feet and a half full glass in my hand. I can see the techs hoisting a pair of aftermarket Gutamaya engines into the drive housings and fitting the weapons systems I'd ordered to her hardpoints.
I'd thought long and hard about how I was going to fit her, going over several different configurations before settling on this one; A large pulse laser on the keel, two medium railguns on the dorsal mounts and two medium burst lasers on the lateral mounts. I'd debated whether or not to fit a cannon or a plasma accelerator to the keel, but decided against it; neither weapon fit into my combat style and could get extremely expensive to reload.
The flickering glow of welding torches illuminate her hull, glistening with a fresh coat of white paint. The only thing I could do to make her more Imperial was to fit a pair of Hammers on the dorsal mounts instead. Sadly, there was a lengthy waiting period on those, followed by a thorough background check. The Empire doesn't give weapons of that power to just anyone. So I'd put my purchase order through and paid my tax stamp. I'd have to make due with standard railguns for now. Not that it was much of a problem; railguns are plenty deadly on their own, but there's just something about Hammers that make me giddy every time they fire.
With a self satisfied smile on my face, I pick up the bottle and start down the catwalk to the pad itself, my heels clanking against the metal surface. As I approach, I'm intercepted by a man in navy blue coveralls and holding a datapad. He's a little taller than me and much heavier, with a sizable gut, but he's got an amicable face and deep laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
"She yours?" He asks with a grin on his face.
I return his smile, my good mood bolstered by a belly full of whiskey. "That she is. You the pit boss around here?"
"Yessir, I am." He wipes the grease from his hands with a spare rag and extends it toward me. "Jon Morrison, pleased to meet you." He doesn't even bat an eye when I clasp his hand in my prosthetic; probably seen his fare share of oddities down here. A pilot missing a limb or two is probably the least he'd come across.
"Cassius Fox, likewise." When we release our grips, I look up at my new ship and take a quick sip from my glass. "Hows she coming?"
"Well..." He glances down at the datapad in his hand. "We're pretty much done; other than a few technical things you probably don't care about, we just need to finish installing the main drives and fitting the weapons, then do safety and tolerance tests on everything." He flicks the screen and smiles up at me again. "Couple more hours and you should be good to go."
"Wonderful!" I can't freakin' wait to get up there in this thing. "Send me a ping when you lot are through, would you?"
"Will do, sir. She'll be done before you know it."
I clap him on the shoulder and turn to go. After taking a few steps, I stop and turn around again. "Hey, Morrison!" He looks back up at me, an inquisitive look on his face. With a lopsided grin, I toss the bottle his way. "Here, give that to the boys when they're done. You all deserve a reward after fixing me up like this."
He fumbles for a moment but manages to hold onto the bottle. Once he sees the label, the widest grin I'd seen yet spreads over his lips. "Working on a ship like this is its own reward, but this..." He brandishes the bottle, causing the amber liquid to slosh around inside. "This is a welcome bonus. Thank you Mr. Fox."
I say nothing as I turn around and head for the turbolift, waving back to him as I go. Don't thank me; thank the good people at Saud-Kruger.
I can hear Morrison shouting at his men to hurry up from across the pad, the sound only being cut off when the doors to the lift slide shut with a hiss. Nothing motivates a group of dock techs like a bottle of good booze. Hell, a bottle that nice would get the Alliance to stop collaborating with the Thargoids if it meant having a taste.
As the lift whirs to life and shoots upward, until I hear my arm start to chime softly. Looking down, I notice a small blue light blinking away on my wrist. Shrugging, I press it and a custom aqua Gutamaya comms panel bursts from my palm. I've got one very short message from an unknown source waiting for me, but one look at it tells me all I need to know:
<Trying to avoid me, flyboy?>
Shit. With all the excitement, I'd completely forgotten; I still owe Reid 750 thousand credits and I hadn't told her I was leaving Achenar. She probably thinks I'm trying to skip out on our deal.
After a brief moment, I shoot back a reply, telling her where to meet me, my good mood thoroughly crushed.
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Do you realise how difficult it is to withdrawn 750 grand, in cash, at 10 at night? Turns out you look really fucking suspicious, especially after having made such an enormous purchase. If this had been any other situation, I might have raised a storm, but it was nice to see how careful financial institutions are with my money. So i just take it, a friendly smile on my face, waiting as they did their checks and verified my identity.
Eventually my ID checks out and, apologizing profusely, the teller hands me a duffle packed to the brim with credit chits. I wave her off, informing her that it was no trouble and leave as quickly as possible.
Right before I'd arrived at my destination (an old haunt of mine from back in the day), I received another ping from Reid; It simply read "Midnight," and nothing else. Good, I think to myself, I still have an hour. With a deep breath, I straighten the front of my uniform and step through the doors in front of me.
It's a lounge frequented by Inquisitors, expensive mercenaries and high class assassins. The place is dimly lit with purple solid-state bulbs, and a thick curtain of smoke from a variety of sources gives the room a hazy appearance. The floor is made with some sort of polished black stone and is dotted with heavy wooden tables and leatherbound chairs. On stage is a brass band, a grand pianist and a singer, all dressed resplendently in black suits and sequined dresses with several couples dancing on the floor in front of them.
I step up to the welcome terminal to sign in and almost immediately an usher sidles up to greet me. With a flourish, he gestures for me to follow and starts winding his way through the throng to a table nestled in a dark corner of the room. It is out of the light and has a clear line of sight to all entrances and points of egress. Satisfied with the arrangement, I take a seat, my back against the wall, and toss my cap onto the table. After a brief glance at the menu, I order a bottle of strong Alliance rum from the mini holo terminal mounted into the wood. I haven't even lit my cigarette before a waiter arrives with the bottle and a glass.
Thanking him, I wave him off and pour a couple fingers of liquor. Sighing, I take a drag from my cigarette and lean back in the chair, eyes closed, and grumble indistinctly to myself. All I have to do now was wait.
---------------
It's half past 12 and she's still not here. I glance at my watch for the tenth time in the past five minutes and grind my teeth in frustration. Where the hell is she? It's not like a mercenary to be late for their own payment. With an aggravated snarl, I down another glass of Rum and refill the glass. I'd wait for another half hour before leaving; if she didn't want the money, I wouldn't go out of my way to-
"Excuse me, sir? There is a woman at the door that says she knows you." The usher stands by my table, slightly bent over so as to speak quietly but still make himself heard. He has an expression that is halfway between worried and exasperated on his face.
I look up at him, startled at his abrupt appearance. I hadn't notice him walk up or stop beside me until he had spoken. Blinking, I lean over to see who he's talking about.
Standing in the entryway is Reid, dressed in that same tight black dress she'd been wearing when we first met. Peeking out from the hem is the tattoo I'd noticed before, and just like then, I can't quite make it out. Her reddish-purple hair is done up at the crown of her head in an artfully messy bunch, held together by two long wooden sticks. She's barely wearing any makeup apart from some eyeliner and deep red lipstick. Finally, like always, she's wearing her signature lopsided smirk and is staring directly at me.
My heart skips a beat and then drops into my stomach. For the briefest of moments, I am speachless, but quickly regain myself enough for a wave of exasperation and embarrassment to wash over me. I lean back and pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. Goddamnit. "Yes. Send her over."
The usher bows and rushes off. Shortly after, Reid saunters up and sinks down into the chair opposite me. Before she can say anything, I speak.
"You're late" My voice is low enough to hide a slight tremor and carriers a tone of annoyance.
She just smiles back. "Well I saw where you were having the meeting. I couldn't arrive looking like a tramp, could I?" She reaches out and grabs my pack of cigarettes. As she lights one, I'm forced to remember that first encounter and the mystery she represented that day. "I had to take the time to look presentable, didn't I? You seem to have done the same." She looks me up and down while taking a drag on her cigarette. "And I must say, you look positively dashing."
I absentmindedly smooth the front of my uniform, the motion causing my medals to clink softly, and cough. "Well, thank you. You look quite... Nice yourself." I choke out the last sentence with difficulty. I'm not in the habit of complimenting people, especially those that I'm about to pay.
And, well... Nevermind.
She blows smoke at me and smirks. "I know."
Maintaining eye contact, she flags a waiter down and asks for a second glass; evidently she intends to stay for a while.
I frown at her, not at all pleased with how this meeting was turning out; I'd hoped she'd take the money and leave, allowing me to drink in peace. Before I can open my mouth to voice my displeasure, she speaks again.
"To what do I owe this invitation to? Decided to repay me for saving your life?" The waiter arrives with her glass and she pours herself a drink.
I grind my teeth; everything is always a game to this woman. "You know perfectly well why." I drop the duffle beside her chair.
She glances down and nudges the bag with her foot, eliciting a pleasant clinking from the credit chips inside. "Straight to business, I see."
I give her a curt nod. "It's all there; you can count it, if you like."
"No. No I trust you." She takes a sip of rum. "Well... As long as you don't shoot me in the back, of course."
In spite of myself, an amused smile inches its way onto my lips at the comment. I do my best to suppress the expression, but from the look of her, she'd caught it.
"There it is! I knew I could crack that shell of yours!" She lets out a quick bubbling laugh, muffled in her glass of rum. A quick pang of... something, flutters about in my stomach at the sound. What is that? Excitement? Elation? Whatever it is, I squash it with an iron resolve and a large gulp of liquor.
I clear my throat and fix her with an icy glare; or... at least what I think is an icy glare. "Were you planning on leaving anytime soon?"
She's not fooled, however, her dubiousness manifested with a smug smirk. "No, I think not." A tendril of smoke curls up over her head and joins the thick gray haze hanging in the air. "I think I'll stick around; I like making you uncomfortable."
I shoot her a venomous glance and shift around to gaze resolutely at the stage. From the corner of my eye, I see her roll her own eyes and mirror my movement, turning towards the stage.
We sit like that, silent, sipping our drinks and smoking our cigarettes, for some time. Minutes pass, then hours, and no words are exchanged between us. With anyone else, the silence would be awkward, but for some reason, but we just don't feel the need to speak. At least I don't. If I'm being honest, it was... Nice, I suppose the word is, to just sit with someone without an agenda, without the anxiety of diplomatic relations or troop movements or... anything. Someone who, I assume, doesn't want anything more from me than what she asked. Even if she does like making me uncomfortable. I grind my teeth in a, if I’m being honest with myself, halfhearted manner.
Eventually the band clears off and customers start to meander their way out of the lounge in varying states of intoxication. Soon enough we are among the only people left. The bottle is empty and a pile of cigarette butts and ash spills over the sides of the ashtray.
As we sit there, staring up at the empty stage, the host steps up and leans over our table.
"Sir, Madam, it is about that time; can I bring you anything before we close?" His tone is polite, but I can tell he just wants everyone to get out. He probably wants to go out back and suck down some onionhead or something.
Neither of us answer for a moment; I swirl the rum around in my glass, and Reid takes one last pull from her cigarette before grinding it out in the overflowing ashtray.
With a long sigh, I shake my head and refuse without looking at the host. He bows and shuffles off to the back of the lounge. Still looking up at the stage, I down the rest of my glass and drop it to the table with a heavy clunk. Still, we exchange no words.
The last of the guests trickle out and the staff have gone; we are alone. A few moments later, the lights cut out and the main reactor winds to a stop with an electric whir. Then, and only then, shrouded in darkness and barely able to see three feet in front of us, we turn to each other.
The only thing I can make out are her grey eyes, one of them crinkled with a smirk. In that moment, the fluttering I'd felt earlier returns with a vengeance, angry at my violent suppression of it. My heart jumps into my throat, it's beats steadily increasing.
We stay like that for a solid minute, stock still and engulfed in the hazy gloom of the room, until an unbidden smile slides onto my lips.
I break the silence, my words dripping in amused sarcasm. "So, am I going to find anything missing when I wake up?"
She pauses for a moment before answering, her smirk deepening at my words. "Only one way to find out."
--------------------
The air is warm and heavy with humidity and the smell of fusion exhaust. From the vantage point atop my father's shoulders, I feel like a giant towering over everyone around me. One hand holds a fistful of salt and pepper hair, the other is outstretched, reaching toward the sky.
Everything around me is still, including me; the crowd is frozen in a blurry and indistinct block of incomplete memory. Even the cheers and whistles are muffled as if I'm hearing them from behind a thick wall.
Everything except for the ships; high above me, a wing of majestic eagles streak through the air in tight formations. Their maneuvers and acrobatics come to me in razor sharp detail. The sound of their afterburners roar in my ears. The tang of exhaust and the buzz of static charge wash over my senses.
For the first time in a long time, as I look up at those glorious winged angels, I remember what it is to feel happy. In place of the constant fear and loneliness is this warm feeling of safety. I smile despite myself, and let out a high pitched, childlike laugh, all my troubles forgotten for one brief moment in time.
But just like any moment, it passes; the image dims and falls away, and the sound of my laughter fades away, echoing into the void. I fall back, the wind whistling in my ears; I squeeze my eyes shut, not daring to look behind me for fear of what I'd see.
The blueness of the sky fades into the grey of my ship's bulkhead. Images of my childhood memory and my adult night blend awkwardly as I turn around and grope for the woman who is no longer laying beside me.
No longer beside me...
Shit.
My heart drops and my eyes shoot open. I reach frantically under my pillow and wrap my fingers around the grip of my rail pistol. In one fluid movement, I shoot upright and extend my arm, the muzzle of the gun sweeping my quarters.
"Easy now; there's nothing missing this time." Reid stands at the foot of my bed, one foot propped up on my coffee table, her boot laces held in her hands.
My face flushes and I lower my arm, rubbing the back of my head in embarrassment. "Sorry. Old habits, you know."
Her lips curl in a smile. "With how things turned out last time, I don't blame you."
I let out a quick chuckle and rub the back of my neck again. For a moment, neither of us say anything.
She breaks the awkward silence first, a tone of amusement in her voice. "I didn't want to wake you. You looked... Peaceful. It was a nice change."
Nodding, I indulge in a small smile and swing my legs over the side of the bed. "Yeah, for once I... Well..." I don't really know how to explain the emotions the dream had brought up, or my theory for why it had happened in the first place.
She saves me the trouble, though. "Something good, huh?"
I look up at her, my smile widening, to see that she's got a little grin of her own. "Yeah, it was-"
"No need to tell me. It was something private, and seems to have meant a lot. Keep that for yourself."
I nod absentmindedly, and we lapse into another awkward silence, our smiles melting away. She finishes lacing up her boots and reaches for her jacket.
"So you're...?" I trail off again.
"Yeah." She answers simply, a twinge of something in her voice.
I nod again. Part of me wants her to stay, but I'm not a fan of drawn out goodbyes, and I doubt she is either.
But leaving right now? It seems rushed, even considering our interactions up until now. I debate whether I should ask her to stay, but something tells me the answer will hurt both of us.
"So..." It's a statement more than a question.
She turns towards me and repeats the word, "So..."
"Will I see you again?" Even though I know the answer, I feel the need to ask, to be sure.
Her eyes flash, and her mouth closes tightly, trapping her breath. I can't tell, but is that.. sadness in those grey eyes of hers?
She slowly steps over to me and takes my hands in hers. I look down at them, noting the symmetry of our parts. Her prosthetic hand is in mine, just as my natural one is wrapped around hers. My brain registers a touch from both, but-
Is this what the life does to us? Picks us apart piece by piece until all that’s left are-
Her gaze catches mine, as her final words finish my thought.
“You’ll see me in your dreams, Flyboy.”
With that, she turns on her heel and heads for the door; I try to maintain contact for as long as possible, but just like my dream, it ends and our hands separate. I’m left with my arm outstretched, my palm up and my polymer fingers slightly curled.
She grabs the duffel and just like that, she’s gone. If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn I saw a shimmer in her eyes as she went.
I let out a long sigh as I listen to her walk down the hall, her boots tapping a brisk rhythm into the marble deck
My dreams; now that’s one place you don’t want to be.
The door hisses shut and the sound brings with it a sort of finality to everyone.
I’m alone, but that’s nothing new.
I turn back to my bed, the covers still disheveled from the night before, allowing myself a small sad smile.
But they sure as hell could use the company